Inevitability
by SomewhereApart
Summary: Post-"All In." What happens when Calleigh lets Eric take her home after her kidnapping?
1. Chapter 1

Calleigh didn't start shaking until she was in the shower

Calleigh didn't start shaking until she was in the shower. She'd been so impressed with herself, with her calm-cool-collectedness after her rescue. She'd taken a long hug from Eric after the gun had been eased from her hand, but that had been her one moment of weakness. He'd rubbed the back of her neck gently with one hand, the other holding her snug around the waist. A deep breath of his familiar cologne, a brief sweep of her palms up and down his back to assure herself that he was real, and she was safe now, and she'd pulled away. She'd winced through an EMT's exam, breathing slowly at the gentle prod of fingers along her ribs to check the extent of her injury. She'd given a short statement; she'd been fully prepared to head home and draw herself a long, hot bath. Maybe with candles. Maybe with music. Maybe with the door locked and deadbolted and barricaded. But Eric had needed to be with her, needed to know she was okay, and if Calleigh was honest with herself, she was glad for both the company and the protection. Just for the evening. Maybe the night.

And now she was finally alone, Eric in the other room cooking dinner and picking a movie while Calleigh scrubbed away sweat and exhaustion and fear, her hands trembling as they gripped the loofa. Her knees felt a little wobbly and her breath was catching as she lathered up, rubbing her skin so hard she wondered if it would be red when she got out. It took her a few minutes to realize the breaths were restricted sobs, that there were tears prickling her eyes along with the exhaustion as the shampoo sluiced down her body and ran toward the drain. Stupid. She was fine, she was safe, she was strong. 'No reason to cry,' she thought as she reached for the conditioner and felt a throb of pain in her still-bruising side. 'Then again…' she winced. She'd been chloroformed, kidnapped, held hostage, kicked in the side, dragged all over Miami at gunpoint… Maybe a good cry was allowed right now. A good, quiet cry that wouldn't send Eric into overprotective overdrive. Ever practical, she worked conditioner into her hair before crossing her arms and pressing them against the cool, water-beaded tile of the shower wall, letting her forehead fall to meet them as she gave in to the slick bubble of fear that rose up and cried itself out.

The quiet, hitching sobs made her ribs ache that much more, but she ignored the pain. She'd had worse. Five minutes, she decided. She would allow herself five minutes to be scared and vulnerable, to wallow in the emotions she'd forced aside for the sake of clear-headed self-preservation that afternoon. Hot water beat down against her skin and she focused on the feel of that instead of the memory of a boot against her side, of a gun barrel against her spine.

The tears came harder despite her best efforts and in an effort to distract herself, Calleigh indulged in the dangerous fantasy of Eric's hands on her shoulders, his body pressed to hers under the spray. He'd rub the tension from her neck, dot little kisses across her shoulders and tell her she was safe now, with him. Telling herself that the stress of the day excused her a little bit of self-serving lust, she imagined for a few brief moments the way he would turn her in his arms, find her mouth with his. He'd let one hand slide down and seek her out, rubbing until she gasped against him and pulled their bodies even closer. He'd take her in the shower, her back against the tile, his strong arms supporting her as –

"Cal?" A sudden cool draft and the churning of the steam around her let her know that Eric had cracked the door open.

Calleigh flushed hot with embarrassment at the sound of Eric's voice from the other side of the door. She had a sudden memory of the summer she turned seventeen, Officer Harlan catching her in Billy Sanders' backseat, jeans around her knees and shirt half-off. At 32, this flowering of the same giddy guilty feeling seemed a little silly. "Yeah?" At least the brief fantasy-flashback combo had stopped her tears enough for her voice to sound normal.

"How do you feel about opening that bottle of wine in the back of your fridge?"

Calleigh's smile spread as she lifted herself from the wall and tipped her head back into the spray. "I feel favorable."

"You're not saving it for a, uh… special occasion?" She heard the implication in his voice, smirked and ignored it.

"I'm pretty sure being kidnapped and held hostage warrants opening the reserve wine," Calleigh reasoned, pleased to find her fingers were steadier as she worked conditioner from her hair.

His "yeah…" was full of hesitation that made it obvious he was still shaken by what had happened to her today. His concern made her belly warm with a certain satisfied pleasure. It was nice, after all, to know that someone cared, that someone would bring her home and coddle her just a little, whether she needed it or not. "Take your time in here," he encouraged, "The food won't be done for about another fifteen minutes."

Calleigh heard the quiet thunk of the door closing before she had a chance to respond, and let her eyes drop shut as the hot water continued to pour over her.


	2. Chapter 2

Eric had been so busy trying not to dwell on the idea of Calleigh naked and soapy in the other room that he didn't hear the water cut off. In fact, his single-minded focus on the food in the pan in front of him left him clueless to her exit from the bathroom until he heard music drift in from the living room, soft and mellow. Something acoustic. She appeared at his side a moment later, peering around his shoulder. "What did you scrounge up from the fridge? I haven't done much shopping lately…"

"Chicken," he told her. "And one of your five bags of salad mix." She smelled like soap and shampoo, clean and intoxicating, and she was barefoot – a rarity for Calleigh. "You know those things are a waste of money."

Her lips curled up in a smirk, and she tore open the bag of greens on the countertop. "Sometimes when a girl gets home from a long day of bullet stria and DNA and trace, she doesn't feel like cooking," she tried to excuse.

"I didn't realize a salad qualified as 'cooking,'" Eric teased, stepping away from the stove to pour them each a glass of wine as she pulled a leaf of spinach from the bag and began to munch.

"Well, you know, there's all that washing and tearing, and sprinkling of cheese, and pouring of dressing…"

The smile she wore when he turned made him laugh out loud. She was reaching and she knew it; Eric was just relieved to see the light in her eyes. "Oh yeah?" One brow quirked questioningly as he handed her a full glass. "Sure you're not just… being lazy?"

Her smile broke into a grin and she chuckled, murmuring a muffled "maybe" into her wine before taking a sip. "But I think occasional laziness is allowed. Plus, I'm a _great_ shot," she reasoned, and he laughed again.

"What does that have to do with-" The ringing of her cell phone broke in and she set down her glass to scoop it up from the kitchen table. He watched her moment of hesitation between reading the caller ID and answering the call, and when she turned her back to him for her quiet "hi" Eric knew immediately who was on the other end. With the low burn of jealousy that always surfaced in situations like this, he turned back to the stove and flipped off the heat before reaching into the cupboard for plates. His attention, though, never left Calleigh.

"I'm fine. It was stressful, but I'm fine…. No, really, I'm fine…. I don't really want to go into it right now, Jake. Just want to put it all behind me… Yes…" She sighed quietly. "No, that's okay. I don't need you to-… No, Jake." Another sigh, this one a little more impatient. "I'm not alone; Eric is here… Of course I'm not just – _why_ would I make that up, Jake?"

Eric smirked and turned find her leaning against the table now, and as if the baffled annoyance on Calleigh's face wasn't enough of a treat, she caught his gaze and shook her head, rolling her eyes dramatically and mouthing "what?!" with a finger pointed at the phone. The ripple of satisfaction was quick and pleasing, and he crossed his eyes and spun his finger by his temple before turning back to fixing their dinner. There was little that pleased him more than Calleigh irritated with Jake Berkeley.

"Well, thank you for your concern, but I am not so overly self-sufficient that I would lie to keep you from tending to me… Because I'm on the phone…" Another sigh, this one ripe with annoyance. "Okay, I've had a long day, and-… No. Because – No, Jake, because I'm tired and I'm hungry, and Eric is dishing my dinner so I have to go… I don't know, they gave me two days off from work, but… Maybe... I know you do." Her ire was fading a little, which had the exact opposite effect on Eric. Jake must be turning on that stupid charm again; like kryptonite for Calleigh. "Well, y'know Jake, you're the one who wanted to cool things off… Okay, Jake, I can't have this conversation tonight. I'll call you tomorrow – maybe…. Because I'm _tired_. Need I remind you that I just got home from being kidnapped and held--… Okay. Thank you…" Her voice dropped so low he could barely hear her, but he still managed to make out the end of their conversation. "I miss you, too – sometimes. Bye."

He heard the slap of her phone closing as he slipped the pan into the sink and ran water into it, and when he turned to carry their plates to the table she was still leaning against it, head down, damp hair half-hiding her face with one hand pressed to her temple. He settled the plates next to her, eased the phone from her other hand and set it on the table as she took one slow, deep breath and shook her head slightly. "He shouldn't antagonize you li-"

"Eric, don't." She lifted her face, and the light she'd had before was gone, replaced with weariness and something else he couldn't quite place.

"I'm just saying-"

"_Eric._ I don't want to talk about Jake." Deeming the conversation finished, she moved to the fridge and yanked it open, bending slightly to study the contents and effectively shutting him out.

"Fine," Eric muttered. Leave it to Berkeley to sour an evening without even bothering to show up. Eric had the urge to land a few solid punches on the prettyboy detective, and not for the first time. But since Jake wasn't exactly within striking range, he busied himself by heading back to the counter for their wine glasses.

Calleigh had fished an orange from the fridge, and was leaning against the countertop with a frown, nails digging into the peel and tearing it back. He mirrored her, lifted his glass for a swallow and breathed in the cloud of citrus and silence that surrounded them. He was fairly certain the orange was nothing more than a convenient excuse to make the trip into the fridge look less like an avoidance tactic. She glanced at him, opened her mouth to say something, then shut it again on a quiet sigh and dropped a hunk of peel to the countertop. He sipped his wine, shifted his gaze to her hands and watched juice run down her thumb when she split the fruit in half. Calleigh peeled off a section and handed it to him like a peace offering. One he took without question.

"Part of me…" Her voice was low and measured, but hesitant. As if even with all the years shared between them, even with the unwavering trust she vowed to have in him, she wasn't sure if she could tell him this. Whatever "this" was.

"What?" It was coaxing, soft, trying to lull her out of the broody stare she'd fallen into for a moment.

"I know he cares about me, even though we're not… y'know, together anymore. But…" Suddenly the orange was discarded to the countertop field of peels in favor of the wine she snatched up for two quick gulps. "I think as much as he may care, part of the reason Jake called was because he knew if he came over tonight we'd end up in bed."

Eric wasn't quite sure the appropriate response to that, to the certainty of the statement, to what looked like a rare glimpse of self-disappointment on her face. All he could come up with was, "Jake is a jerk, Cal."

"Of course he is; I dated him," she scoffed, staring into her wine glass. "I mean, he's not. Not really a jerk, not most of the time. He can be really sweet. But sometimes…" She took another swallow and grimaced like it was bitter. "Y'know, I used to date good guys. Great guys. Guys who didn't end up brushing me aside for the sake of their careers or.. or killing themselves in my lab. Or being engaged. But not anymore; not lately. Now its selfish detectives and… disappointment."

"You could date a good guy again…" She looked at him again then, some of the darkness lifted from her expression, replaced by a muddle of uncertainty and sweetness. She'd heard his underlying message loud and clear, now which of its ride-along emotions would she give in to, he wondered.

"The food is getting cold." It was a soft, almost silent whisper, and she held his gaze for just a moment longer before dragging herself away. Agile hands scooped up orange and glass in a fluid move and she was off, headed for the table, for escape. Uncertainty had won out.


	3. Chapter 3

"Eric

"Eric..." Calleigh sighed in a decidedly dramatic way, tucking her now-empty wine glass between her hip and the back of the couch. "Why haven't you kissed me yet?"

"What?" It was almost a chuckle, and all startle. But she'd expected that. The startled part. After all, they'd said nothing for the last twenty minutes, both pretending to watch _Casablanca_. So it was no surprise that her question had thrown him. It sort of threw _her_, to be honest, but she'd already downed four glasses of wine and was feeling pleasantly warm and floaty. She'd apparently imbibed away her brain-to-mouth filter. Clue number one that Calleigh Duquesne was solidly in the "tipsy" category.

"I've been waiting for you to kiss me. For months." Her gaze was level on him, matter-of-fact. She made sure of it.

Eric offered up one of those sweet smiles that made her heart flutter in a way so schoolgirly she'd never admit to it. "You're drunk, aren't you?"

"No, sir. No, I am tipsy. Which I think is perfectly justifiable considering the day I've had. But I assure you, I am perfectly in possession of all my faculties. So if you would decide to finally kiss me, it would not be considered taking advantage."

If anything the smile widened. "Yeah, you're drunk."

"Maybe a little," Calleigh admitted with a small chuckle. "But the question still stands." She wiggled her toes against his thigh slightly, urging him back to the topic at hand.

"Alright…" Eric's hand settled on her foot, his thumb tracing her toes, almost coaxing a giggle at the tickling caress. Almost. "I haven't kissed you because I've been waiting for you to kiss me."

"You have not."

"Yeah, Cal. I have." He sounded convincing enough, sure, but she didn't believe him for a second. Erik Delko wait to kiss a girl? Like hell.

"Mm-mm. The Eric Delko I know doesn't wait for a woman to make the first move. Not this long." She picked up her wine glass again, studied the bottom hoping she'd left a sip. No such luck. Her tasty good wine was all gone.

"Well, you're special."

"Yeah?" That caught her attention. Slim fingers settled around the stem of the glass as she looked to him again.

"Yeah."

"How so?"

He didn't answer her, just looked down at her pale lilac pedicure and smiled. A wholly unsatisfying answer, even if she hadn't been a little bit drunk. No, not drunk. Not really. Tipsy. Considerably tipsy. Yes, that was it. Calleigh was considerably tipsy. She nudged him with her toes again. "Hey. I asked you a question."

"You still remember what it was?" he teased, earning himself a light kick.

"_Yes_. I told you, I'm not drunk." He just quirked a brow at her expectantly. "I asked you how I was special."

"You want the honest answer, Cal?"

"No." She could tell her answer surprised him, and she thought the way his mouth drew into a frown was adorable. She wasn't quite sure she'd ever found Eric Delko "adorable" before. "Sweet," sure. "Charming," most definitely. She may have once or twice, in the privacy of her own bedroom late at night, mulled over the idea of him as "luscious." But adorable was new. She decided to blame the wine. And that oh-so-delectable-looking lower lip of his.

"You don't want the honest answer?"

"No, because I'm afraid that you will tell me something that will be too much for me to process tonight." Oh, yeah. No filter. None at all. She couldn't have stopped the confession if she'd wanted to. "I'm tired, and I'm still a little scared, and I want you to kiss me. I don't want you to, yknow, confess your undying love for me. I would have to think about that, and I decided a glass or two ago that I think too much, and I am safe not thinking with you. So I'm not thinking anymore."

"Well, there's your answer, then, Cal. I can't kiss you because it _would_ be taking advantage. You're not thinking. And you're tired and a little scared – so you're vulnerable." The smirk on his face lent levity to his words that belied the sincerity of his gaze. But Calleigh knew him well enough to trust the eyes. It was always the eyes with Eric. She chewed her lip, sighed, pouted prettily at him, and didn't even get the chance to try to convince him otherwise. "And now you're going to try to flirt with me to change my mind, huh?"

"Any chance it'll work?" Hopeful, if slightly blurry, eyes and a sweet smile were her bargaining chips.

"I don't think we'd stop at a kiss." His fingers stroked up to her ankle, make her shiver slightly as they ghosted over the bone. "Not tonight, anyway. And if it turned out this was really the alcohol talking, or that it's just a vulnerable night… I'd rather you be mad at me for not sleeping with you, than for sleeping with you."

Well, sure, if he was going to be all gentlemanly…. Damnit. Her brain was a little too fuzzy to effectively fight logic and chivalry. "I suppose I can't fault you for that…"

"And besides," his lips curved into that smirk she loved so much. "When I make love to you – which I definitely will – I want you to be sober."

The warm flush that bloomed over her skin had nothing to do with wine, and she wondered if he could see her blush in the low light. And then she wondered why she was blushing at just the mention of sex. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Eric's fingers were still on her ankle, tracing up and down now in a way that was absolutely delicious and anything but casual. "Want you to feel every kiss… every touch…"

"Stop that," she breathed, eyes falling shut as she swallowed hard. The slow tickle of his fingers spread up her calf and she felt the muscle twitch slightly under his attention, her teeth clamping down on her lower lip.

"See?" He skimmed behind her knee, making her squirm just a little before he headed back down. "Wouldn't just be a kiss."

"I'm really okay with that," she sighed, eyes fluttering back open, pulse skipping merrily, leg tingling slightly. She wasn't usually this easy; must be the wine. In which case, maybe he had a point…

"Tell me that when you're sober, and we'll talk." His devious fingers had settled on her foot again, innocent as could be. Knowing his feelings for her were strong enough that his resolve would hold, and recognizing that the last glass of wine was making her head swim a little bit more, Calleigh accepted that she was beat. With a smile and a small nod, she turned her attention back to the movie. His quiet apology came a moment later.

"No, don't be sorry," she sighed, stretching her feet further into his lap and offering him a wry curve of lip. "You're right; I'm a little drunk."

Eric chuckled, murmuring something that sounded suspiciously like an "I told you so" as he began to knead a slow massage into the arch of her foot. If he'd meant it as a diversionary tactic, he'd chosen well because the instant lull of radiating pleasure kept her from calling him out. Instead she made a small noise of approval and let her eyes drop shut. "Eric…"

"Mmhmm?"

"Sleep with me tonight?"

"I thought we just had this conversation," he scoffed lightly, and she didn't have to open her eyes to know he was shaking his head and smiling.

"No, I mean… _Sleep_ with me. Tonight. Just lay with me." She was starting to drift already, sleepy from the wine, the movie providing a kind of white noise while the slow strokes of his thumbs across her foot relaxed her slowly.

"Oh. Yeah, of course. Do you want to finish the movie first?"

Calleigh's "mmhmm" sounded distant even to her, but she loved the end of this movie… She could make it a little while longer. Maybe… Just had to get her suddenly-heavy eyes open…

"Want me to wake you for the end?"

Her lips curved into a smile, and she nodded, blindly discarding her wine glass to the floor and settling down a little further into the couch. She had just enough time for a quick catnap before the end… It took her mere moments to succumb to a deep and alcohol-steeped sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

It wasn't until he reached for her and found nothing but cool sheets that Eric realized Calleigh had left the bed. Bleary eyes cracked open and he lifted his head from the pillow; she'd left the door open just a sliver, and the shaft of light that poured in around it was just barely enough to illuminate the room. She was probably in the bathroom, he thought, considering how much wine she'd gulped down before conking out cold before the movie finished. He'd tried to wake her for the end like he'd promised, but she'd just let out a sleepy whimper and burrowed herself deeper into the cushions. It was just as well, he'd figured. Some rest would do her more good than blinking sleepily through the last act of a movie she already knew by heart. So he'd scooped her up in his arms and carried her to bed, crawling in to sleep with her like he'd said he would.

The way she'd tugged him to spoon against her would have been a surprise if she'd been a little more sober and a little less vulnerable, but since she was neither – and since she was fragrant and soft and Calleigh – he'd draped an arm around her hips and held her close until the rhythm of her quiet breathing lulled him to sleep. But apparently her dead sleep hadn't lasted long, because he could hear the whistle of a teakettle in the kitchen and knew now that she was up, and not in a "have to pee in the middle of the night" way.

He found the clock, forced sleep-heavy vision to focus. They'd only been in bed a couple of hours; something must have woken her. Eric couldn't believe she'd untangled herself from his arms without waking him. It probably had something to do with the fact that she had quite possibly the most comfortable bed he'd ever been in, all soft sheets and plush pillows and smelling like her. In fact, it was the comfort of the bed that was tugging him toward sleep again right now, despite the part of his brain telling him that he should go to her, should check on her. She wasn't as strong as she seemed all the time…

And neither, apparently, was he, because the next conscious thought he had came when he felt her crawl back under the covers and settle a few inches away from him. Seemed the bed had gotten the better of him… The realization that she'd been crying came when she let out a shaky sigh and sniffled softly, and the quick shot of guilt went straight to his gut. He should have made himself get up, should have caught her when she was vulnerable so he could get her to just open up and talk to him. Nobody could benefit from being as tightly bottled as Calleigh was. Maybe he could still get her talking now, when she was stitching herself back into her cocoon of self-preservation and careful emotional control.

It was worth a shot--and the part of him that always ached for her wouldn't leave him alone until he did—so slowly, gently, he reached over and slid his hand onto her shoulder, feeling her tense immediately and hearing her breath go silent, held. He shifted closer, until he was almost spooning her again and murmured quietly to her, "You okay?"

He was unsurprised when she nodded insistently. He didn't expect her to cop to her moment of weakness. "Yeah. Just couldn't sleep, so I made myself some tea."

"You've been crying." Her voice was thick with it, the way you can only sound after a good crying jag. She didn't seem to have a response for him, must have known he'd call her out if she tried to lie. The silence held between them, tense and drawn, before he finally spoke again. "It's okay, you know. After the day you've had, a good cry is nothing to be ashamed of. Take it if you need it."

"Already did." She'd dropped to a whisper; he knew it was to hide the tremor still in her voice.

"Do you feel any better?" He couldn't see her in the dark, not with her shades pulled as tight as they were, and the hall light off again. But he could feel the soft strands of her hair against his hand so he shifted his fingers to trace through them slowly.

"My head hurts. And my eyes hurt. And I'm tired, and stuffy." Her body shifted closer to him, easing back against his chest, though she hadn't released any of the tension. "But I guess. A little. Crying usually just makes me feel silly."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I guess I just feel like I should be stronger than that."

"Crying isn't a litmus test for strength, Calleigh. It's a necessary release of emotion."

"Gonna psych me now, are you?"

"I'm just saying… you need to let out what you need to let out. And I'm here for you."

She was quiet for a while, so long that he'd have wondered if maybe she'd drifted off to sleep if her body wasn't still held so tense. "I woke up to use the bathroom, and… My side hurts. He kicked me in the side, and it just aches whenever I move. The EMT said I'm lucky it's not broken. And I was in the bathroom, and in pain, and I just started thinking about everything, and… If I hadn't set my camera down at Kathleen Newberry's crime scene for Cooper to steal the photo card, none of this would have happened."

"Cal, its not your fault. Cooper crossed a line; you know that. And I have a feeling that website will be down soon, if its not already." He ignored the surge of guilt for her sake. He'd rather keep her talking about herself than bring up the truth: everything that had happened to her was _his_ fault. If he hadn't dropped that stupid piece of paper, Cooper wouldn't have made the website, she wouldn't have been kidnapped, and she'd have spent the last day at work or tucked in here, safe as houses.

"I know it's not my fault, but… I don't know. I guess I just feel violated."

"By the website or your kidnappers?"

"Both. And I hate that – that I was kidnapped. It sounds so…"

"Weak?"

"Yes."

"It's not."

"I know."

"Do you really?"

"Yes. I do."

"Well you're right to feel violated. Having your life flashed all over the internet, your personal information, your job…" He thought of the blurb about Hagen that had been flashed on the screen, and was glad she hadn't been there to see it. It would have stung, would have made her go quiet and steely, the way she did when someone had really managed to get under her skin.

"They used my job to get me to cover for them. My job is… I'm good at my job. I'm a professional. And that's all going to be called into question now. I covered up a crime scene for two criminals. I did it at gunpoint, sure, but I did it. I tampered with evidence, I _disposed_ of evidence."

"You also delivered evidence, and gave a kid in over his head the chance to make a deal and get a lesser sentence. He led us right to your next clues – the clues that got you rescued, Cal." She shifted onto her back with a grunt, her arm against his torso, guarding her injured side from his body. He still couldn't see her. Eric wondered if she'd be talking to him like this if he could. "You were good today. A good cop, and a great CSI. You delivered us the DNA of your kidnappers, the prints of the guy that killed the vic you cleaned up, and an eye witness. Don't ever doubt your professionalism."

"I don't." If anything, her voice was softer now, her body finally relaxed. "But it's not me I have to worry about." Silence fell around them for a moment, Eric's fingers still tracing through Calleigh's hair. Finally, she spoke again. "You know IAB will investigate."

"You're worried about Stetler?" Of course she would be. He wasn't always what one would call fair and impartial, and after her incident earlier this year, Calleigh seemed to have lost whatever tiny shred of respect she'd had for him in the past. "Want me to kick him in the teeth for you?"

It was an empty threat, and she knew it, had to have known it, but she chuckled anyway and that had been the goal. Mission accomplished. She shifted a little closer, if that was possible, and a moment later he felt her head turn against his, her brow resting against his chin. Eric maneuvered the arm between them until it was cushioning her head, then slid his free arm down to rest at her hip.

Again they were quiet, but it was an easy silence, still and comfortable. He began to drift again, her bed and her body and her slow, even breathing starting to pull him toward sleep. When she finally spoke, he thought he might be dreaming. "Eric, I'm sober now."

"Mm. You are," he agreed, pressing a sleepy kiss to the top of her head and hoping she wouldn't mind. If she did, she didn't say anything. "Don't be embarrassed about before."

"I'm not," Calleigh whispered, tracing her fingertips up and down across his forearm, goosebumps flaring in the wake of the slow, tickling caress. "Will you kiss me?"

Okay, now he was definitely dreaming. Had to be. Because there was no way in real life he could be tangled up in Calleigh Duquesne, surrounded by the smell of her, heated by her warmth, while she asked him to kiss her. And meant it. "Am I still awake?" He hadn't meant to ask it out loud, but her soft snicker made it worth the slight embarrassment.

"Yes. And so am I. And I still want you to kiss me."

He wasn't entirely sure he believed her. This could just be Dream Calleigh playing tricks on him. But if that was the case, so be it. He'd take Dream Calleigh over no Calleigh any day. "You're sure?"

"I've been sure," she insisted quietly, turning her face toward him, and he was fairly certain he felt a gentle brush of lip across his chin.

Eric wished he could see her face. He thought maybe then he could read her, make sure she was telling him the truth. Just as he was thinking he should roll away and flip the light on, he felt the warm wash of her breath against his mouth, and then the tentative softness of her lips on his. Apparently, she wasn't going to wait for him to make up his mind.

Kissing Calleigh wasn't the way he'd thought it would be – and he'd thought about it plenty. His heart knocked harder in his chest than he'd imagined it would, but his mouth was softer against hers. He thought she'd be confident; she was hesitant. He thought he'd tangle his fingers into her hair, but it was Calleigh who cupped the back of his head and shifted to deepen the kiss while his own hand stayed rooted on her hip, squeezing gently.

She tasted like tea and tears, and the way she sucked in a soft gasp when he slid his kisses from her lips to her jaw made him ache. Still, he couldn't have sex with her tonight, he knew that much. He needed to give her more time, needed to make sure she wasn't just vulnerable, that she wouldn't regret it in the morning. That didn't stop him from sucking tiny kisses along the soft skin under her jaw. It didn't stop the way his hand skated up her ribs, down across her belly. When she arched just slightly into his caress, then made a soft sound of discomfort, he pulled back as if to look at her in the pitch-blackness of the room.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," she breathed, and he wished again that there was _some_ light in the room. How did she ever find the door in the middle of the night? "Sore."

"Why don't you rest, okay?" He found her in the darkness, pressed soft kisses along her cheekbone up to her temple. "Take the pain meds they gave you; you'll be out like a light 'til morning."

"I don't need the meds; the pain isn't _that_ bad." He knew she'd protest; she'd very nearly not taken the sample pack in the first place.

"They'll help you sleep. I know you like to be the tough guy, but there's no harm in—"

"Eric, I can't take a narcotic after four glasses of wine." Oh. Right.

"Oh. Right."

"Yeah…" Cracking open that second bottle of wine didn't sound like such a good idea in retrospect. "I'll be alright."

"You're sure? You could probably take an ibuprofen or something, even with the wine, and be okay."

Calleigh shook her head, seeking his mouth again as she whispered, "Just kiss me to sleep. That'll be enough."

His lips curved as they met hers, the kiss quick and soft. "Does my mouth have some kind of magic painkilling properties that I don't know about?"

She smiled into the kiss and murmured a muffled "yeah" into his mouth, and this time he did lift his hand to tangle his fingers into her hair. They traded a few more warm, slow tangles of lip and tongue, and then Eric made his way down her chin, along her jaw again. He took his time, learning the curve of her throat in the dark, then the dip of her collar, the slope of her shoulder. Sure enough, before long the hand she'd looped around his wrist fell loose and slid back to the bed, signaling her descent into dreams again. Eric indulged himself for a few more minutes, then let his head rest next to hers on the pillow and let himself follow.


	5. Chapter 5

Calleigh woke, groggy and a little disoriented in the near-dark of her room

_Authors note: Chapter 5 was supposed to be the last chapter, but then it became WAY too long. So Chapter 6 (which should be up shortly) will be the final chapter, in which these two will finally get their butts in gear and get naked. And Eric will speak Russian._

--

Calleigh woke, groggy and a little disoriented in the near-dark of her room. A quick glance at the bedside clock told her two things. First, it was just past noon, and second, Eric had been right last night: the narcotics would knock her out good and proper. Throbbing pain had pulled her from sleep around seven, and she'd managed to stumble to the bathroom with her meds, swallow them down with a palmful of tap water, and make it back to bed without fully waking up. And without waking him, which surprised her not at all. She'd winced when he moved to spoon her immediately, his sleep-heavy arm settling on top of her injured ribs. Not good. She'd shoved him (gently) onto his back, much to his sleepy protest, but all it took was two words from her -- "hurting me" -- and he settled down and conked back out. Arranging herself in the position that caused her the least pain possible -- on her right side, left arm curled in front of her, right tucked beneath her pillow, a second pillow wedged behind her as a buffer -- she'd finally managed to drop off as the drugs kicked in and dulled the pain away.

Until now. She could feel a vague ghost-pain in her side when she shifted, evidence that the drugs were still working at least a little bit, and she thought she should get the strenuous activities – showering and seducing Eric – out of the way before they wore off completely. That she had put sex with Eric -- something she'd still had reservations about even the day before -- onto her to-do list for the morning both amused and unnerved her, but she shoved the thoughts aside as she pulled back her covers and gingerly eased herself out of bed.

In the hallway, she could hear the low murmur of TV from the living room, a confirmation of what she had already assumed -- he hadn't left her yet. It had never crossed her mind that he wouldn't stay for breakfast once he had stayed the night. Breakfast had always been their thing -- they'd tried for a while to meet once a week before work at the diner near the lab. Eric was always late, and always gulped down three cups of coffee before she'd finished hers. Early mornings weren't exactly his strength; as she brushed her teeth she wondered—and not for the first time—how he'd ended up on her team instead of night shift. Not that she was complaining.

In the shower, her thoughts turned to the way he'd kissed her the night before, and to the startling comfort of whatever new level of their relationship they seemed to have stepped onto so calmly. Thank God for the dark, she thought, because she wasn't sure she could have been so forthright with him if she'd had to let him look her in the eye at the same time. The thought made her feel foolish – she was a grown woman, after all. She should have no trouble facing a man, taking what she wanted. But this wasn't just a man, it was _Eric_. Her Eric. Her friend, her confidante, and maybe that had been the cause of the belly rumblings the night before? Maybe it had nothing to do with how close their bodies had been, with the faded familiar smell of his cologne now clinging to her sheets, with the softness of his mouth against her temple, her hair, her lips. Maybe the nervous knot in her gut had simply been because he was trying to get close to her – not her body but _her_, the essence of her, the vulnerable, quaking _heart_ of her – and she knew she'd been powerless to stop him. She simply trusted him too much, if there was such a thing.

There was definitely such a thing as too much contemplation, though, especially when one was still on the edge of a narcotic haze, so Calleigh turned her mind to the process of showering, making quick work of it and stepping out onto the plush bath mat. She toweled off, then wrapped herself in her favorite robe – the deep purple one Jake had given her for Christmas – and ran a comb quickly through tangled hair. When it was smooth and damp she studied herself in the mirror, wondered if she looked as tired as she felt. She couldn't tell, which was probably a bad sign. She tugged the robe more tightly around her small frame, fingering the lapel. He'd thought it was her favorite color. She'd had to remind him that, no, purple was his _sister's_ favorite color; hers was pink. But the robe was Turkish cotton, soft and cozy, and she'd assured him that it didn't matter, that she loved it, that she would look like a little girl in a pink robe anyway.

With a sigh, and the accompanying echo of dull pain in her ribs, she left the bathroom. Since the TV was off now, she wasn't entirely surprised to find Eric in her bedroom. What did surprise her was the tray of food on the bed.

"How are you feeling?" He sat at the foot of her bed, one hand steadying the edge of the tray, which was set with a plate of over-easy eggs and toast and a cup of juice. Nothing special, but so incredibly special.

"Okay. Sore." She padded slowly into the room, tilting her head slightly toward the bed. "Did you make me breakfast in bed?"

"I did," he confirmed with a slightly shy smile. "You, uh, you ruined my plan by getting up without me. I was going to have this all right here when you woke up."

"I think you ruined that one, Delko," she teased, settling on the other side of the tray and reaching for her fork. "_You_ got up without _me_. I woke up all by my lonesome." Were they really doing this? Sitting on her bed and teasing about who had abandoned who in the morning? When had they become this and where had she been?

"Well, last time I checked on you, you were still drooling on your pillow, so I figured I had more time. Then I heard you in the shower." He smirked and she set her fork down indignantly as she felt her cheeks flush.

"I do _not_ drool." Green eyes leveled on brown, challenging. There was no way. Absolutely not. Because she'd be mortified, and that just wouldn't do.

"No?"

"No."

"You sure about that?"

"Absolutely." She picked up her fork again, cut neatly into one egg and let the yolk run. Her teeth gnawed gently at her lower lip and she took the piece of toast he handed over wordlessly before looking up at him again. "I don't really drool, do I?"

He chuckled and leaned in, and she hoped he was still holding on to the tray because she certainly couldn't be held responsible for it as he brushed his lips over hers once. "Maybe a little." Twice. "Maybe not at all." Lingering a third time for good measure. The schoolgirl thrill she got from three little kisses would be embarrassing if it didn't please her so much.

"You're really not going to tell me?"

"Well, you're a CSI. What do you think?" He eased back, putting the inches of the tray between them again.

It took her a moment to catch his meaning, but when she did, she scowled at him. "No drool on the pillowcase. You're a liar."

"I prefer 'tease.'" And there was that stupid smirk, the one she loved so much. The one he liked to give her when he was messing with her.

"Jerk," she cursed, but there was no heat in it and she couldn't help the slight curve of her lips.

"_Tease_," he insisted before watching her dunk her toast into her runny yolk and munch on it. It was good, just the way she liked it, but Calleigh wasn't particularly hungry so she ate slowly, quirking her brow at the distaste with which he eyed her food.

"What?" She took a bite of egg white.

"You know what."

She did know, that was true. He hated the runny yolks. 'Eggs should be eggy, not runny,' he used to tell her as he shoveled down mouthfuls of hashbrowns. That he'd bothered to make her eggs the way she liked them was a testament to his affection for her. And it was affection, not love, because love she couldn't handle today. Not right now, anyway. So she chose to simply smile at him and reach for her juice. "Thank you."

"Of course. If you want to be gross, that's your prerogative." It earned him a smile and a chuckle – and a slight wince as her muscles constricted on the laugh. The smile he'd sported a moment before melted quickly into a scowl of concern. "Tramadol wearing off?"

"Yeah." She nudged her egg with her fork. "A little bit. And I'm just… not very hungry," Calleigh admitted quietly, offering Eric an apologetic look as she took another small bite of egg.

"Probably from the drugs. If you're not hungry, don't eat."

"But you cooked."

"And I can cook again, Cal." He eased the fork from her fingers. "I'm not going to be offended if you don't eat this."

"You're sure?" she scowled, half reaching to reclaim her utensil.

"I'm positive." As if to prove his point, he tugged a napkin free from beneath the plate, then set it on top of the food. "I'm more than happy to throw out your runny eggs."

Shaking her head at him, she snatched up the juice cup and murmured into it as she took a sip. "Fine. Toss it."

No doubt pleased that he'd gotten her to acquiesce, he wasted no time in lifting the tray and heading for the door. "I'll be right back."


	6. Chapter 6

Calleigh waited until he was safely in the hallway, then wasted no time easing off the bed again and heading for her stereo. Thankfully, she'd plugged her iPod into the unit to charge when she'd arrived home last night instead of leaving it in the kitchen with her purse. Sipping her juice, she spun through the artists, trying to choose the right one for the mood. He was going to come back, and she was going to talk him into kissing her silly and then maybe a little bit more. Maybe a lot more. Frankly, now that she'd had a taste of him, now that she knew the way his lips felt on her throat, her shoulders, her mouth, there was no way she could wait. Before, she'd thought they should be sensible, take their time with things, but really what was sensible about having him but not _having_ him? Nothing she could think of. (Okay, about a dozen things that she could think of, but she was choosing _not_ to think of them right now.)

She'd settled on Eva Cassidy, the mellow guitar and sultry vocals invading the room just as he did. He slowed as he spied her, tilting his head slightly and giving her a knowing smile when she felt herself blush. Getting caught trying to set the mood was a little like getting caught naked, which she supposed shouldn't bother her, considering she had nudity in mind for their near future. But still. She felt the heat from her forehead to the tops of her breasts and felt ridiculous for it. But Eric just kept walking toward her, one hand sliding along her lower back before he pressed his lips to her forehead. "Pretty."

"Eva Cassidy," she swallowed, taking a subtle, deep breath in an attempt to slow her racing heart. She shouldn't be nervous about this.

"And you." If anything Calleigh blushed deeper, a slow smile curving her lips as she turned to face him. His mouth fell on hers before she could speak, soft and unhurried, light brushes of lip against lip, nothing more. She wanted to call him a charmer, to razz him and set herself at ease, but she couldn't bring herself to stop the press of their mouths so she busied her tongue with teasing his lower lip instead. His lush, full, soft lower lip that had driven her to distraction on more than one occasion when he spoke or scowled or smiled at her. She couldn't resist a tiny nip, loving the soft groan it evoked from him before he met her in the kiss, tongues meeting in a toe-curling waltz as his fingers threaded into her damp hair. Settling her hands on his hips, Calleigh decided that if the sex was half as good as this, she'd be more than happy. Speaking of….

"Eric," she breathed in the space between kisses. "Take me to bed."

He pulled back slightly and Calleigh watched his lashes flutter for a moment before those beautiful brown eyes opened. "What?"

Slim fingers squeezed his hips lightly. "Take me to bed. And I mean that in the way you're thinking; you don't need to ask." She hoped the smile she gave him was steadier than her pitching stomach. If he made her persuade him, she'd be just a little embarrassed.

"Cal… you're hurt." Her smoothed her hair, brushed a feather-light kiss over her lips again.

"I'm alright."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't. Just go slow." Hoping she could convince mind by way of body, she slid the fingertips of one hand in along his waistband, then up the center of his torso, her gaze slipping down to follow it for a moment before flicking back up to him. "Please."

When he swallowed hard, she felt a small, triumphant flash of pride. Men were so easy sometimes – a little stroke, some batting eyelashes, and a "please" and they turned to putty. "You're sure?"

"Do I look sure?"

"Yes." One hand slid down from her hair to trace the lapel of her robe and she felt her pulse skip merrily.

"Take me to bed," she requested again, pushing up onto her tiptoes to claim his mouth again before breathing, "Make love to me like you said you would."

"Calleigh… You're _sure_?" Despite the gentlemanly protests, she could see the way his eyes had gone darker, could feel the quickened rise and fall of his breath under her hand.

Deciding actions spoke louder than words, Calleigh found his hand with hers, lacing their fingers and tugging him gently toward the bed. He followed dutifully, giving into her light shove when the backs of his knees hit the edge of the matress. It left him sitting there, and she climbed into his lap with a nearly-suppressed grimace at the twinge of pain called up by the movement.

When he opened his mouth to speak she covered it with hers. She knew what he was going to say. That they should stop, that she was in pain. She didn't want to hear it. Looping her arms around his neck, she eased their bodies even closer, pleased when she felt his hands low on her hips. When she eased back, she asked him again, "Do I _look_ sure?"

He nodded, skimming his palms up and down her thighs over the cotton of her robe. "Promise me that you'll stop if it really starts to hurt."

"I promise you, Eric." Noses brushed sweetly before she kissed him again, tongue teasing against his lips until he opened for her. His hands found their way back up her thighs, cupping her rear, grinding her against him lightly, and she felt herself flush slightly again when she felt how ready he was.

It wasn't until he let one hand sneak back down and steal it's way under the cotton to trace a shivering caress up the outside of her thigh that she had the first moment of mild panic. She'd had reasons, lots of reasons why this exact situation was bad. Dangerous. For one, it wasn't professional. She shouldn't be mixing business with pleasure. When the nagging voice in the back of her head brought up Jake, and John, and Peter, she told it that none of them worked as closely with her as Eric did. Day in, day out, in the lab, in the field. They were together all the time; it was part of what had drawn them so close. But this close, this intimate…. this was full of all sorts of potential. Potential to implode, to create distance and awkwardness, and she just couldn't stand if that happened to her and Eric – oh!

His mouth had begun to wander along her jaw, finally ending up at that spot just behind her ear that made whole body flash warm. She gasped and he chuckled, the wash of his breath against her skin sending a shiver through her. He sucked another slow kiss against her skin, then nipped it lightly and she echoed her first gasp with another. What had she been thinking about again? Had she even been thinking at all?

Then his voice was at her ear, gravelly with lust as he told her, "I love that noise. So sexy. Do it again." He nipped again and she had no choice but to obey, her thighs squeezing lightly against his. His groan was buried against her throat as he planted more kisses there, sucking his way down her racing pulse.

Okay, this was good. This was lovely. This she could handle. As his teeth grazed her collar, Calleigh let her hands tug at his shirt, pulling it up, up, and over his head. The sight of him so close to her -- _under_ her -- all smooth muscle and tanned skin, sent her hormones into overdrive. Her hands grew restless, and she put just enough space between them to skate her palms down over his chest, his abs, her bottom lip clamped tightly in her teeth.

She couldn't blame him for the smug smirk he wore when she met his eyes again. "Like what you see?"

"Definitely," she smiled, lips brushing his again, and the hand that had been drawing lazy patterns on the side of her bare thigh slid up to cup her rear, the other ducking beneath the robe to mirror it. Cue moment of panic number two. Calleigh broke out of the kiss and looked him in the eye, searched him. For what, she wasn't quite sure. Something. Some kind of reassurance. Apparently her mouth had no interest in waiting for her brain to catch up, because it blurted for her, "This isn't going to ruin us, right?"

When he tilted his head slightly, frowning at her like she was a very simple child, Calleigh wanted to melt into the bed and down to the floor. But then he smiled, drew his hands out from beneath her robe and threaded him into her hair. Brown eyes were steady on hers as he assured her, "Of course not."

"You promise?"

"I promise." He sealed it with a kiss, then pulled back just enough to murmur, "I won't let anything ruin us. You mean too much to me."

"That doesn't mean—" His lips on hers cut her off.

"Shhh, _laskovaya moya_. Trust me." Calleigh pulled back, smiled down at him curiously.

"Russian?"

Eric nodded, returned the smile. "You hear Spanish every day…" Arms weaving around his waist, she asked him what it meant, and he ducked in to kiss her again, murmuring the endearment against her lips. "My sweet."

It was simple, and a little saccharine, but to Calleigh it was perfect. She'd never been one for pet names or sweet nothings, but this one she liked, and she couldn't quite place why. "Say it again."

"_Laskovaya moya, ti takaya krasivaya_." She had no idea what he'd said, and she didn't care. Who'd ever thought Russian could be sexy? "Just trust me. We'll be fine." His conviction soothed her, calmed the racing of her doubting mind, and she nodded as she reached for his wrists, using them to draw his hands down until they brushed the belt of her robe.

"Eric…" Eyes met as his fingers moved slowly, loosening the belt and easing the robe off her shoulders. It pooled around her hips, allowing her some modicum of modesty as his hands skimmed up her torso, bypassing the ugly purple bruise to cup her breasts. When he found her stiffening peaks with his thumbs, she sucked in a breath and let her eyes drop closed. It was a shame to lose the sight of the heat in his eyes, but the starbursts of pleasure when he began to squeeze and roll was something she wanted to enjoy without distraction. And then his mouth was on her collar again, working its way down, and Calleigh arched back to urge him closer, groaning immediately at the pain that flowered in her torso and the torque and stretch.

Eric eased her back up immediately, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close until they were torso to torso. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I just… I shouldn't move like that," she admitted with a sheepish smile.

"You can't even arch your back?" he questioned, quirking a brow and shifting his arms slightly. His warm skin slid against hers with the movement and she reveled in the feel of a man in her bed again. Of bare skin on hers.

"It was a pretty deep arch…" The excuse sounded flimsy even to her, so Calleigh rushed ahead before he could call her on it. "Maybe we should lay down? I think that'd hurt less."

After a moment of hesitation, during which he studied her face with a scowl of concentration and concern, he seemed to deem her well enough to go on. At least, he tugged her robe back up over her shoulders and helped her shift until she was laying down, head cushioned by her pillows, body a riotous mass of nerves again. She was unsurprised when his body settled next to hers, not on top, and she tilted her head to meet him when he bent to kiss her.

She'd hoped they'd dive right back in, but apparently Eric had other plans. Never ceasing the slow rend and sew of their mouths, he trailed a fingertip down her torso from sternum to navel, goose bumps flaring in the wake of the tickling caress. She thought he'd finally undo the belt of her robe completely, but he didn't. Instead, he retraced his steps, drawing the caress back up until he could tangle his fingers in her hair and deepen their kiss even more.

Calleigh was restless, flushed and aching and impatient, so she brought her own hands to his waist and tugged at the button of his pants. When it was free, she lowered the zipper, then shoved at the waistband until she'd managed to push it halfway down his thighs. She couldn't reach any further without what she knew would be a painful twist of torso, so she turned her head out of the kiss and breathed, "Off."

He obliged her, sitting up and shucking down to his boxers before returning to her side. Calleigh watched the shift of his muscles as he moved and wondered at how she had ever seen him in his wetsuit without having the urge to jump him. She certainly never would again. Not now that she'd seen what was going on underneath.

When his mouth fell on hers yet again, she barely managed to suppress the groan of frustration. It wasn't that she didn't like the kisses – she did – it was just that there were so many other wonderful places he could busy his mouth with. She tried to murmur his name between kisses, but he cut her off, and this time she couldn't help the sigh of irritation. At least it got his attention. He pulled back, and Calleigh gave him her best pleading look, his sudden grin catching her off guard before the realization dawned on her. That bastard. "Are you teasing me?"

His snicker was mischievous and guilty, and he hid his face in her neck for a moment, pressed a quick kiss there and admitted, "Yeah."

Smacking his shoulder lightly, Calleigh urged his head back up and frowned at him – or tried to; she couldn't quite help the way her lips fought to tug up at that corners. "Hey, I'm injured."

"Oh, _now_ you're going to use that?" he laughed, pecking her chin, her lips, her nose. Calleigh marveled slightly at his comfort with her. Was he like this with every girl? This easy affection, the teasing, the little things. She supposed he was; Eric had no trouble being open. Unlike her.

"Yes. Now I am, because I want you to make me feel better." His smile softened at that and his lips took the now-familiar walk along her jaw, his voice low and sexy when he spoke again.

"If you want something, all you have to do is ask."

Well. That certainly was simple. As he found that spot behind her ear again, she found one of his hands with hers, drawing it down and nudging her robe aside until their joined hands cupped her breast. "I want you here."

"Oh yeah?" he murmured, nipping her earlobe before shifting lower to suck a kiss into the side of her neck, the curve of her shoulder.

"Yeah," she breathed, and was that her voice? All gaspy and needy? Rein it in, Duquesne. It's just sex. With Eric.

"You gonna ask me?" His mouth had worked its way past her collarbone, fallen once on the swell of the breast he was still cupping.

"No," Calleigh grinned, figuring two could play at the teasing game. Clearly, he didn't mind, because he just laughed and brought his mouth to where she wanted it. He gave the peak a lazy, slow suck and Calleigh rewarded him with a low moan. He did it again, harder and her toes curled in the sheets. This was more like it, she thought, and then he found her other nipple with his hand, tugging and rolling as he nipped and sucked and she stopped thinking altogether.

It was like someone had flipped a switch on him all of a sudden. The hesitant, patient man that had been pacing her up until now was gone, replaced with the Eric Delko she'd been expecting – hungry, and experienced, and turning her into a gasping puddle of pleasured goo in less time than it took her to fire a test round at work. He used lips and teeth and tongue, thumbs and forefingers and, God, before she knew it, she had twisted completely out of her robe, her hands fisting the pillows under her head, her legs tangling with his as she gasped out pleas and moans and soft cries of pleasure. She arched her hips against his thigh and then groaned at the pain, silently cursing the boot to the side she'd taken. Damnit, hadn't the universe known she was going to be having sex that night? Couldn't some higher power have taken mercy on her so she could do this right, so that he wouldn't be stopping like he was right now, his head lifting like she'd known it would, that frown of concern back on his face.

"I'm fine," she panted before he even had a chance to ask. "I just need…" One hand released it's vice-grip on her pillow to find his and guide it down between her thighs. She was wet as a river delta and hot as a Louisiana summer, and the way he closed his eyes and moaned at just the feel of her made her feel powerful and sexy and pushed the thought of pain far, far from her mind. "Feel what I need?"

His eyes opened again, dark, dark brown and hot with desire as he nodded and let his fingers give her one slow stroke. His eyes never left her face as her jaw dropped slightly, letting her inhale a gasp. His hand shifted beneath hers, skating down her inner thigh teasingly before sliding back up until his thumb brushed over her clit in a whisper-soft caress. Another gasp, and her eyes fell shut. She couldn't watch him watch her like that. It made her feel too naked, too exposed. His thumb circled again and her head ground back into the pillow on a moan of his name and a plea for more.

And then his mouth was on the move, giving each peak one last kiss before meandering down her stomach, haloing the bruise on her torso before he shifted until he was between her thighs. Calleigh's pulse pounded harder in anticipation, both hands back at her pillow now as she swallowed hard. His arms slid beneath her thighs, cradled her hips, and she felt the wash of his breath against her sex before… Nothing. She lay there, eyes squeezed shut, poised and waiting for the feel of his mouth on her, but nothing came.

With a frown, she opened her eyes to scowl at him, and there he was. His beautiful face framed between her thighs, grinning that shit-eater grin again before he lowered his head for one soft lick. She gasped and closed her eyes again, one hand moving down to fist the sheets as she waited for the next lick. Again, nothing. "Eric," she groaned in frustration, moving her hand from the sheets to the back of his head and urging him toward her again but he evaded, turning his mouth to her thigh.

"Watch me," he murmured into the soft skin there, nipping gently and waiting until she opened her eyes again to give her another lick, then a gentle suck. Her lashes fluttered, but she kept her eyes open. If that was what it took to keep him there, she was damned sure going to do it. And as he increased the pace and pressure, sucking harder, nipping lightly, she thought there was nothing she wouldn't do if only he would keep going. Right now she was his, all his, putty in those strong, wonderful hands that were gently kneading her hips as his mouth kept up its assault on her.

She'd never watched before, never kept her eyes trained on the way all these delicious delirious ribbons of pleasure were called up and wound around her, and now she found herself mesmerized by the way he moved against her, by the flickers of pleasure on his face, by the quiet moans he kept treating her to. And then he shifted one hand to grip her hip hard, anchoring her to the bed as the other slid around between her thighs to stroke against her. His gaze lifted to hers, and she watched him grin and lick his lips, catching the taste of her before he slid one finger into her, a second, and Calleigh couldn't help squeezing her eyes shut at the pleasure as they began to move.

Then the words came. Washing over her in waves, between little kisses and licks. He told her she was beautiful, that she sounded so sexy when she moaned, that she tasted so good, that he loved the way her skin flushed when she got close, and she was close, wasn't she? Calleigh nodded frantically, then blurted a plea that came from nowhere. "Russian! God, Eric, say it all – oh, yes! Right there – say it again in Russian."

And he did, the words tumbling off his tongue as his thumb ground hard against her clit, fingers working inside her to send her plummeting over the edge with a cry of his name and an arch of her back. Pain echoed pleasure, but surprisingly it did little to dampen the heady sweetness of release, and until she came back to herself a moment later, panting and a little sweaty and pleasantly boneless, she half-thought the drugs were still in effect.

Then there he was, at her side again, brushing his fingers through drying hair that she knew would be tangled as all hell when they were finished. At this particular moment, she couldn't seem to care. "You okay?"

She nodded, panting, "God, yes. Wow," and then the pain began to creep in with each deep breath and she fought to keep it off her face. He'd see through her, and he'd insist they stop, and she had no intention of not having him inside her in the next three minutes.

"You're sure?"

She shifted into her side with a grimace she couldn't hide, and reached into his boxers to give him a few steady strokes. "Positive."

His eyes had fallen shut, and his breath grew deep as she kept up the movement of her hand but he still managed to call her out. "I saw that. You're in pain."

"Shhh," she urged, pressing kisses along his throat, nipping his Adam's apple playfully, swirling her tongue in the hollow of his collarbone. "I want you in me."

Despite his immediate moan, and the way his hand moved to clutch her hip, he shook his head. "Not if it hurts you. I don't want to be the one who hurts you."

Calleigh wondered at his ability to be so insistently against this, even with her hand on him, even with the way he was so clearly losing himself to the pleasure she prodded out of him. Knowing she could break him, she let her hand squeeze gently on each upstroke, and sure enough it pulled a deeper moan out of him. "You didn't hurt me. He did." Her lips found his again, and he kissed her hungrily, hand squeezing against her hip. "This feels good. With you. It feels better than it hurts. If we stop, it'll just hurt. _I'll_ just hurt. Okay? Please?"

He couldn't resist her if she needed him, and she knew it, so she was unsurprised when he finally nodded, reaching down to pull her hand away. "You need to stop that or it'll be over too fast."

Nodding eagerly, Calleigh shifted onto her back again, waiting for him to shuck his last piece of clothing before reaching to pull him over her. He covered her body with his, careful not to press against her ribs, keeping his weight toward her injured side. One of her arms wrapped around his shoulder, her other hand pressed against his chest as he reached down between them and guided his length to her. He let it stroke gently against her clit, earning a soft gasp at the spike of still almost-sharp pleasure, then eased himself lower until the head sunk into her. He eased the rest of the way in with a sigh, one she echoed with a low moan of approval at the feeling of being filled. Of being with Eric, really _being_ with Eric.

The wash of his breath was unsteady against her collar when his forehead fell to her shoulder. She slid her hand up, wishing he still had hair she could tangle her fingers in as she cupped the back of his head, turning hers to find any skin she could press her lips to. "Need a minute?"

His tight "mmhmm" betrayed how close he was. Head resting against his, she let herself revel in the feel of him, hands moving to trace his back, his shoulders, his arms as her body adjusted to the feel of being so intimately joined with him. Suddenly, she felt unsteady, heart tripping over itself, belly somersaulting with giddy nerves. She wondered if he felt the same panicked excitement until he pulled back and looked her in the eye before finding her mouth for a slow, intimate kiss. No, she realized. He felt even more. She'd seen it in his eyes. That desperate love that she knew he felt for her, but just couldn't stand to fall into yet. Still too dangerous, much too intimate. She needed time. She needed to take her time. But then the kiss broke, and his nose brushed hers, and he eased back to look at her again and she wanted to hear it. Couldn't stand to hear it without a small nervous breakdown, but wanted to hear it. And wanted to give him the gift of saying it.

"Say it in Russian," she murmured, and he looked surprised that she'd been able to see through him. "I can hear it in Russian and be okay."

Those full, decadent lips curved and pressed to hers before he murmured against them, "Ya tebya lyublyu."

The next kiss was heady and full of promise and heat and need as his hips began to pitch against hers, and there was no stopping the eager moans that sounded in her throat with each thrust. Her hips met his, a twinge of pain ignored with each rock back against him. Her hands were restless again, fluttering along his back, settling on his hips to speed his thrusts just a little, skating back up to squeeze his shoulders as her head tipped back and his mouth fell on her neck. It was good, it was so good, it was every good thing she'd hoped it would be, but the pain was creeping in with each drive of her hips back against his and before long her cries of pleasure were mixing with restrained grunts of discomfort and he slowed to a stop. Caught.

"_Cal_," he insisted quietly. It was all he needed to say.

"I don't want to stop," she breathed, blinking her eyes open to meet his.

"I'm not going to do this if it hurts you, Calleigh." She could feel the tension in his body and knew it took effort for him to hold back like this, to deny himself for her when he was well on his way to the finish. She also knew without question that he would if she asked him to. Luckily for both of them, she had no intention of stopping.

"It only hurts when I move against you." Her hands swooped down to his hips and settled there, kneading gently.

"Oh… That's easy, then." His lips brushed hers. "Don't move your hips. You don't have to—"

"Eric, I'm not going to lay here like a corpse." Aside from the fact that she knew her body would move of its own accord, she didn't want to make him do all the work just because she was injured. She didn't tell him that, though; he'd have told her she was being ridiculous.

"Alright then…" He began to ease out of her, but she caught him and urged him back.

"I said I don't want to stop."

His lips curved and he kissed her softly again, nudging her nose with his. "I know. But if it hurts to move like that, we'll just… find something that doesn't hurt as much, okay?"

Satisfied that he wasn't putting and end to things, she nodded and let him pull out and settle beside her again. "Maybe if I'm on top?"

"How will that help you move less?" Eric's chuckle sounded against his shoulder before he pressed his lips there, one hand finding her breast and teasing a hard peak. Pleasure streaked through her, echoing between her thighs. She was all wound up again, and thought they'd better think of something soon or she might just go insane from the lack of satisfaction.

"It's a different movement. It didn't hurt when I was straddling you before." It was as reasonable of an argument as she was going to make with his fingers still rolling her nipple gently. "Let's just… try," she breathed, and to her surprise he gave in, thumb rubbing over her nipple once to soothe it before he shifted onto his back next to her.

"Alright, we can try, but I'm telling you…"

"Hush," she ordered as she climbed on top of him, ignoring the pain and reaching for him. She wasted no time settling herself on top of him, and he wasted no time settling his thumb against her clit. The pleasure from his slow, steady caress was almost enough to mute the pain as she began to move. Almost, but not enough. He was right; this wasn't any better. With a sigh, she stilled and shook her head. "Maybe if you move…?"

Ever willing to please, Eric began to move beneath her, arching his hips against hers. It didn't hurt, but it was a little awkward, and he didn't have quite enough range of motion for anything but short, shallow thrusts. Damnit. "No. You're right. Stop."

His hands caressed her thighs, up and down in slow, soothing strokes. "Told you."

She rolled her eyes and sighed. "Wow, this is really romantic," she muttered. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Eric insisted, hands squeezing lightly. "We'll find it." He shifted slightly beneath her, then pushed himself up until he was sitting, and she moaned softly at the feel of him still inside her. His arms looped her waist, lips pressed together as he surveyed the room.

"What are you looking for?" Calleigh leaned in, pressed her lips to his shoulder and rested her chin there. Part of her was mortified, wanted to crawl into him and disappear and not come out. But the rest of her was… oddly comfortable. She thought inexplicably of the time she'd had so much trouble with Jake. She'd been stressed, and overtired, and just hadn't quite been able to get there. They'd switched positions. Then switched again. Tried again, and nothing worked. It hadn't taken him long to become frustrated, and feeling like he was irritated with her certainly hadn't helped the mood at all. In the end, she'd ended up in the shower, feeling defeated and embarrassed, and he'd just gone home.

She didn't like comparing Jake and Eric, but she couldn't help it when he was rubbing her back gently and pressing kisses into her hair before wrapping his arms around her for a quick hug and announcing, "I got it." He patted her thigh lightly to urge her to move and she did, pausing when his hand caught her wrist. "Don't lay yet."

Nodding, she sat and watched him duck over the side of the bed, returning a moment later with one of her throw pillows. He plunked it into the middle of the robe that was still sprawled beneath them and she grimaced and snatched it up. "Careful. I don't want biologicals all over this; it was expensive."

He arched a brow. "It's a throw pillow."

"It's an expensive throw pillow." She handed it back. "Put it under the robe. It was expensive too, but it can be washed. And it wasn't my expense."

"Oh yeah?" He tucked the pillow under the robe, shifting it to where he wanted it, then urging her to move onto it. "Who's expense was it?"

Calleigh lay down, positioning her hips on the pillow as she eyed him carefully. "If I tell you, do you promise to be smug and not jealous?"

"Ah. Jake." He situated himself between her thighs, on his knees, shifting up until her splayed thighs rested against his. "Y'know, I gotta say, I'm feeling pretty smug right now."

Releasing the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, she let her hands settle against his knees and told him, "You should."

Eric's grin only widened and he drew his shaft over her again, rubbing it against her clit in short strokes. "Perfectly willing to rechristen this robe. You feel okay?" One hand wrapped around her hip and gripped it tight enough to keep her still.

Nodding, she let a hand slide down to tease against her own breast. She wasn't as ready as she'd been before, but then he must have known that, the way he was teasing between her thighs. It hadn't occurred to her that the sight of her with her hands on her own body would turn him on so much. It should have, but it didn't. So she was caught just a little off guard when he cursed softly and replaced his shaft with his hand, thumb taking up the quick rhythm against her sensitive nub. Her lips curved in a slow, devious smile and she twisted her nipple and embellished the gasp just for him.

"Jesus, Calleigh." His free hand drew her leg up until he could press a wet kiss to her calf. "You have no idea how long I've waited to see you like this."

"Year or two," she breathed, teeth clamping her lip as he found just the right rhythm against her.

"Longer. Since the day I met you."

That caught her attention. "Nuh uh."

"Oh, c'mon, you're telling me you didn't meet me and think 'Look at that fine Cuban man. How can I get him naked?'" he teased, thumb sliding down to test her wetness, then grasping himself again and lining up.

She laughed, wincing, and shook her head. "No, I think it took until I saw you in the wetsuit. 'Look at that fine _wet_ Cuban man. How can I get him naked _under me_?'"

It was his turn to laugh as he brought his hand back to her hip, releasing her leg. "Once you're all healed up, I'll let you make good on that." Tightening his grip, he slid in easily, and she gasped in a breath when he hit her just so.

"_Oh._ That's good." Her hands found their way back to the pillow to anchor her as he gave her another slow, deep thrust.

"Don't know why we didn't just do this first," he murmured, both hands on her hips to hold them still as he sped his rhythm. Pleasure rioted through her system again, spiking higher with each thrust, but they made it less than a minute before she arched her back on a wave of pleasure and collapsed back with a frustrated sigh of pain. "Calleigh," he laughed.

"Sorry. I just… it feels so good; I can't help it. I arch."

At least he was still laughing about it, she thought, as he leaned forward and pressed his palm just inside the shoulder of her injured side, pinning her to the bed. His other hand, stayed rooted on her hip. "Okay, arch your back."

Calleigh tried, but found it considerably more difficult without the mobility of her hip or shoulder. "Good," she nodded. "That's good. Keep going."

"Bossy," he teased as he complied, pushing into her again in deep, quick strokes. The angle wasn't quite as good as it had been before, but it was still better than any of the other positions they'd tried and it wasn't long before she was moaning eagerly, suppressing the urge to fight his hands and thrust back against him. There was something thrilling about being completely at his mercy, she discovered. Something hot about being out of control, about being held down as he bombarded her with pleasure.

One of her hands fell to his wrist, squeezing, tugging and he asked her if she wanted him to let up on her. "No!" She hadn't meant it as desperate as she had, but she was too into this to care. She didn't even care when he laughed at her between grunts of pleasure.

"God, you're amazing." His voice was as breathy, as unsteady as hers, but it was the only unsteady thing about him. When he repeated the compliment in Russian she laughed, the tightening of bruised muscle barely registering in the sea of pleasure she was drowning in. Still, she wanted more, craved more of this driving, delicious pleasure, so she slid one hand down, down, his voice halting her just below her navel. "You do that, it's - unh, yes -- all over for me." She was close enough that she hesitated, just for a moment, but she wasn't ready for this to be over quite yet. Her hand fell to his knee, gripping hard and crying out as he increased the pace.

"God, Eric, please, _yes!_" Words tumbled from her lips as his body crashed against hers, his hands keeping her anchored almost enough to keep her body from protesting. Her nails scratched against his knee as she pushed higher and higher, crying out as she rode the edge but didn't quite tip over. The undercurrent of leeching pain kept her just out of reach of her climax. And then he grunted hard, his hand flying off her shoulder and landing between her legs to rub hard as he spilled into her. It was enough to send her over with a twisting arch and a harsh cry of his name and for the moment, the surge of ecstasy was enough to drown out the pain completely.

It wasn't until she collapsed back to the bed, limp and trembling that her face twisted with pain. Eric leaned over her, murmuring apologies and raining kisses on her sweaty forehead. He was still panting when he pressed a sloppy kiss to her mouth and pulled out of her. She hadn't been ready for that, hadn't been ready to let him go, but he was fumbling for another packet of her painkiller and that she was more than ready for. She hadn't been able to catch her breath yet, every deep gasp of air making the pain throb and her breath hitch.

The bed dipped with his weight again in an instant, and he eased her up until she was half sitting, supporting her as she fished the pill from his palm and easing her cup of juice into her trembling hands. There was just enough left to gulp down the Tramadol, and his mouth was on hers again as soon as she let the cup fall. Short, seeking, repentant kisses pressed to her mouth over and over again, and she had to lift her hand to his jaw to halt him long enough for her to try to breathe normally again.

His voice came to her in soft encouragements and easy hushes until she finally found a slow, steady rhythm. "There… that's it…" His lips brushed hers once, swallowing her tiny, pained whimper as he eased her back to the bed. "I need water."

"Me too," she breathed, letting her eyes fall shut as she willed the pain to fade. Calleigh felt the shift of the bed, heard the sound of him in the kitchen, and was distracting herself by replaying the first five of the past fifteen minutes in her head by the time he came back. She blinked her eyes open and eased herself up, reaching for the glass he offered and taking slow sips as he reached around her and retrieved her throw pillow, tossing it to the ground again before he set his now half-empty glass on the night table and sat on the edge of the bed. Once her thirst was sated, she handed her glass to him and smiled, answering the question in his eyes. "I'm okay. Really."

"You're _sure?_" His hand lifted to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear.

"I promise." Tangling her fingers with his, she gave his hand a squeeze of reassurance. "Lay with me until the painkiller kicks in?"

"Of course." Eric looked at her like she'd grown a third head, leaning in for a soft kiss. "Where do you think I'd go?"

Calleigh didn't answer, just smiled and eased herself back with a scowl of pain, shoving the robe out of their way while he lay down next to her. Moving slowly and carefully, Calleigh stretched herself out along his side, pillowing her head on his chest, one leg slipping between his. Her right arm was curled against her, the left she slid over to rest on his torso. "It was nowhere near this painful yesterday."

"The second day is always worse with bruising like that," he assured, one arm cradling her shoulders, the other falling to trace a slow, lazy caress up and down the arm she had strewn across him. "Plus, you spent the last hour or so flexing the bruised muscle."

She could hear in his voice how ridiculous he still thought she was for insisting, so she turned and pressed a kiss to his chest. "It was worth it."

"Would have been worth it tomorrow," he reasoned, and she tilted her head up to look at him. All she could really see was his chin.

"You regret it?"

"I regret hurting you."

"But the sex?"

It was a moment before he answered, long enough for her stomach to curl with dread. If she didn't regret it despite the discomfort she was in, she sure as hell hoped he didn't. Finally, he spoke. "No." Calleigh calmed a little, curling against him again, letting the rhythm of his heart lull her. "But we could have waited until you weren't in pain."

"I didn't want to wait."

"Why not?"

The answer was there, on the tip of her tongue but she couldn't bring herself to say it. Not yet. She wasn't ready to go there yet. She thought of the way he'd said it, wondered if she could pull it off in Russian, and decided she'd just make a fool of herself. Calleigh felt him press a kiss into her hair, steeled her nerves and told him her answer in a way they'd both understand. "_Te amo._"

The steady caress of his hand over her arm halted for just a moment, then kept going and she felt the muscles of his abdomen tighten against hers as he chuckled. "You going to say it in English?" he asked her quietly, and she could hear the smile in his voice.

"When I'm ready. I figure it will be kind of like this…"

"Fumbling and painful?"

"No," she laughed softly, wincing at the pain, though it was dulling now. "Inevitable."


End file.
